


Who am I? (darling to you)

by selflessbellamy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love is Weakness, Valentine Fic Week day 4, first 'i love you', post 2x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selflessbellamy/pseuds/selflessbellamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Title taken from Ben Howard's promise)</p>
<p>Bellamy doesn’t recall the last time he had seen her cry - so the sound of soft sniffles completely stops him in his tracks...</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Or the one where Bellamy wants to break Clarke's walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who am I? (darling to you)

_I only wanna die alive_

_Never by the hands of a broken heart_

_Don't wanna hear you lie tonight_

_Now that I've become who I really am_

Bellamy doesn’t recall the last time he had seen her cry - so the sound of soft sniffles completely stops him in his tracks as his hand hovers in front of the tent flap, a lump growing, slowly drying out his throat. Ever since their return from Mount Weather six months ago, what had driven Clarke to become emotionless had been no less than a mystery; at first he had tried to confront her about it, but it seemed like a sore subject - one that she would dismiss without as much as a single word. It hurts him, if he is to be quite honest, to see her like that - her persistent ability to smile suddenly stolen, or hidden considering how much this development had been her own choice, which he thinks it was. Only Clarke could possibly think of doing something like that, and apparently she wanted to stick to it.

Which is why somehow he concludes that he must have mistaken the sniffles for something else, hesitating a moment before bending down to step inside, not even looking anywhere while saying: “Clarke, we’re leaving in a-“ What cuts Bellamy off is a sob just loud enough for him to register it escaping her mouth, yet she blocks the following by pressing a blanket over her lips. “In an hour…” His eyes widen a little with the low continuation, and he takes the two steps that are required to reach the side of her makeshift bed, crouching to see her face better. 

 

Despite her effort to mask it, as he worriedly pulls the locks of her golden halo to the side, she finally gives in. She _is_ crying, and it abruptly stabs at his heart: a bit of water underneath her eyes that can barely count as teardrops. “Please don’t say anything,” is all that she begs, but it’s a pleading: a prayer - one that is not likely to be heard. Unexpectedly, there’s a continuation: “And if you choose to join me, I won’t either.” It does take him a few moments to comprehend the connection between the meanings, yet when he finally does, he simply nods.

As much as his heart beats in his throat right now, with the battle ahead, this is a deal that in which he has to participate, crawling under the blanket, so that they are stickled together - a makeshift candle providing the solitary, dim light of the tent next to them. “It’ll be our secret.” Whispering, he pulls her closer, longing for warmth, and it actually calms her to the point where a new set of sobs are released from somewhere deep within the weakest parts of her; the parts of her that just maybe are ready to force the coldness away. Bellamy holds her close, which feels weirdly right until she stops crying again to look at him with an unknown gaze that he can’t seem to unravel the meaning of.

 

“We’ll be okay, you know. I promise.”

 

“I don’t believe in promises, Bellamy. In hope, in luck, in-“

 

“Love?” At instant their eyes meet, and he swallows the lump at last, feeling how it aches all the way down from his throat to his chest, where it settles as a knot.

 

As the silence intensifies, so does the stare: “Yeah, that too.” Clarke breaks both things, sighing while adverting her gaze slowly.

 

And promise me this:

You’ll wait for me only,

  Scared of the lonely arms.

 

 

All that he knows is that he refuses to give up on the sheer picture he has of their leadership; can still see it clearly, therefore it is evident that there is indeed something missing _somewhere._ Aspects, puzzle pieces, which he has spent the past six months trying to recover. Because back then, before he had left as an inside man, everything appeared to be just the way it should. Lastly, Bellamy had to shamefully admit that the difference had to be her.

Change had hit everyone, but with Clarke it is a whole other story; the Clarke he used to know would never expose Octavia to any danger - would never lie to him.

 

“I want to trust you again,” he mutters bluntly, idly running his fingers through her hair since she strangely has let him, “I want you back…”

 

“Bellamy, you never even had me.”

 

“Maybe not. But _you_ had _me_ , Clarke. I loved you.” While admitting that, he never for an instant breaks eye contact, and although she understandably tries to upon the confession, he won’t let go; following her every move till she has no choice. “However, please don’t lie to me. Lexa came to me one month after the return; told me everything, and how proud she was of you for not showing _weakness._ Guess what Clarke? It doesn’t matter whether or not you have dismissed love, since that doesn’t mean that you don’t need it anymore. And I’m not giving up.”

 

“Fight then.” _Surely, if that is what she wants_ , so he kisses her sweetly, lifting her chin up slightly though waiting for her to shove him away. To his surprise, she doesn’t, although not kissing back until the truth seems to wash over her: Bellamy’s intending to break the cold walls established so finely around her heart. After she feels the first powerful blow, she wants it; wants her emotions back - Therefore, Clarke returns the kiss forcefully, fighting against none other than herself.

Her heart starts aching only when they subconsciously turn a little, and Bellamy is suddenly on top of her. The tears start to prickle more in her eyes with every minute; with everything he does to make her feel, to reawaken her emotions: kisses her neck, cheek and shoulder, releasing not a sob but a low gasp from her this time.

 

“I love you.” The words are quiet and muffled against his ear. But they’re there. And that’s the only thing that matters.

 

“I love you too. You, Clarke. This you right here.”


End file.
